Break Me
by Sakura02
Summary: Mustang knew something would go wrong when he woke up that morning and noticed everything seemed a little too perfect. Little did he know that Ed's visit would leave him in severe pain, and eventually end up with him living with Hawkeye. Slight Royai.
1. Chapter 1

Break Me

Disclaimer: I don't own FMA, so there. Also, for sole purposes of this fic, both Hughes and Mustang have an office at Central HQ.

- - -

One could tell from the day's start, that things today would be somewhat different, and yet a little hectic. The sun had risen nearly 16 hours ago, and there still hadn't been a fire drill, or mountains of papers to be signed. Instead, birds sang beautifully, and there wasn't a cloud within a 200 mile radius. One might call it "peaceful".

But not Colonel Roy Mustang. Oh no, something was up, and he made it his own personal duty to find out what it was. Or rather, he made it the duty of his subordinates to find out. He, as he clearly told them on more than two occasions, was going to try his hardest to enjoy this blissful day as long as he possibly could. Unfortunately, with the constant phone calls from who was known as Mustang's best friend, Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes, and the unstoppable complaining from Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc, Heymans Breda, Sergeant Kain Feury, and Warrant Officer Vato Falman, seemed to make almost anything impossible.

At least, the colonel thought to himself, Hawkeye isn't adding to this stress by shooting rapid-fire at the rest of these clowns...

The lovely Ms. Riza Hawkeye. She had been serving under Colonel Mustang for longer than anyone on his current squad, and over time, he had become extremely fond of her. But by getting to know more about her, Roy had also learned that when someone says "every rose has its thorns", he knew he could easily put that label on Hawkeye. First Lieutenant Hawkeye had shown early on in her training with Mustang that she had the best aim and shot out of anyone the colonel had ever seen. Sometimes, he liked to think of her as his own personal bodyguard, for he, being an alchemist, had no use for a gun of any sort.

The last, and most likely to be the favorite of the colonel's squad, was Major, or State Alchemist Edward Elric. The boy was definately the youngest in the group, but perhaps the strongest after Mustang himself. Edward, age 16, who had his right arm and left leg made of automail, was more commonly known as the "Full Metal Alchemist", for his skill in alchemy was best used with metal. He, unlike anyone else that worked for Colonel Mustang, basically did what he wanted, when, and how he wanted it. His mission in life was to locate a Philosopher's Stone in order to regain his two lost limbs, along with the body of his younger brother Alphonse, whose body was lost in an alchemic experiment gone wrong, and now had his soul encased in a suit of armor.

"I don't understand this," Mustang said, seemingly trying to rid himself of a headache. It was obvious he still had his thoughts on what he thought to be the worst day in his life.

Mustang temporarily ceased his thinking, for right then he heard two pairs of feet loudly making their way over in his direction, most likely into his very office. He recognized the sounds right away, for you see, they were very distinctive: one pair always seemed to be stomping on the hallway's wooden floors, while the other, never on purpose, but was always the loudest, for the owner of said feet, had a familiar clanking sound, yet hollow sound whenever he, which was all the time, followed "The Stomper".

"Speak of the devil," Mustang said amusedly, as the two oak doors leading to his office were wrenched open. "Edward, Alphonse, I was just thinking about you two."

"Oh, don't start the politeness now, " said the short, blonde-headed one, more commonly known as Edward Elric. The teen reached behind him, violently grabbing for some rolled up pieces of papers from his back pocket, and slammed them on the colonel's desk. "This is the report you were so insistant on me writing on my findings in Degiorgio."

"Good work," Mustang said, ignoring Ed's cringe for thinking he had been treated like a true "dog" of the military. "Now, join me for a drink?"

Mustang gestured for his guests to sit down on the very large and comfortable, brown leather chairs placed convienently in front of his desk. When they obliged, he got up, walked over to a small, wooden cabinet on his left, and grabbed glasses not only for him and the Elrics, but for Hawkeye, Falman, Feury, Breda, and Havoc as well. Upon returning to his desk and distributing a glass to each, he sat upon his shivel chair, did a quick spin-around, and then propped his feet on the flat surface of the table.

"A pitcher of tea and a side of whiskey for later," Mustang said, pressing the red intercom button on his desk.

While patiently waiting for his order, Mustang called off his search for all the things he thought were making his day better than all the rest for the next 48 hours. Minutes later, a soft knocking could be heard against the wall of the colonel's office. Seeing that the doors hadn't been shut since the Elrics arrival, there wasn' a need for anyone to check the hall. Another moment passed before the delivery of the drinks made their way inside the overly-large office. But to the colonel's dismay, the tray was being carried by none other than Lt. Colonel Maes Hughes.

Upon his entry, and after the overdramatic groan from Mustang, Havoc, Feury, Falman, Hawkeye, and Breda, jumped up, and stood erect, saluting their superior officer.

"As you were," Hughes ordered, a smile on his face. The five subordinates immediately sat back down. Hughes walked over and carefully placed the tray full of drinks on the desk beside the colonel's feet. After that, he walked back into the hallway, and returned with a small wooden chair for him to sit on.

"Are we having a meeting or something?" Hughes asked, reaching for the pitcher of tea and beginning to serve everyone. "It isn't everyday that you have this many people in your office at one time."

"We just showed up," Ed said, taking a drink from his glass. "Mustang wanted me to write a report about what went on in Degiorgio; so we stopped by to drop it off. We hadn't planned on staying."

"Nonsense, Edward, what's the hurry? You and Alphonse are rarely in Central anymore... I see no reason why you can't stay a while," Mustang said, a kind of sardonic smile playing on his lips.

Ed said nothing, but rolled his eyes; he hated whenever the colonel was like this. He seemed to always want the company of no one but him, Hawkeye, and on those very rare occasions, Hughes. Then again, there wasn't a problem with them staying to finish their drinks.

"It's already dark out."

The sound of Hawkeye's voice immediately brought Edward back to his senses.

"Yeah, Al and I got here when the sun was beginning to set," he said.

"We had no idea what time it was," came the voice of Jean Havoc. "Colonel Mustang had us searching his office."

"And that's why you joined the military: to listen and obey every order given to you by your superior officer, no matter how farfetched they may seem," Mustang said, with the accompanying laughter from Hughes.

After this, the room faded into silence. Everyone looked to be doing their own thing: some looked out office windows, while others sat idley drinking their tea.

"Look, a shooting star!" Al cried, instantly ending the silence as his huge metal form jumped out of his seat.

"Let's all make a wish," Feury chided.

And so, everyone gathered around, except for Mustang, who was already seated next to the window, to make their wish. The star shot past, and nine pairs of eyes seemed to be twinkling as it flew by; and just as it was this morning, everything was peaceful, until...

"Lovely," Ed said sarcastically, starting to walk away from the giant window. It was only when he flew forward, and then heard the ear-splitting cry behind him, did he realize what had happened.

You see, right before their gazing of the shooting star, Mustang had removed his feet from his desk, and had placed them back on the floor to stretch them out. Only now did he realize his mistake in letting them drop to the ground behind the elder Elric, for when Ed had turned around, clearly not aware of his surroundings, he had accidently tripped over one of the colonel's outstretched legs. Unfortunate as it already was, it was made much worse, when Ed realized that the leg that was causing Mustang so much pain, was all due to Ed's left, and incredibly hard auto-mail leg.

Mustang had seethed, and was now holding on to his leg for dear life. It was obvious he was in pain, but how much pain only he knew. Maybe it was only bruised...or maybe it was something worse; it was hit painstakingly hard with a metal leg.

Hughes and Vato Falman dropped down beside the colonel, both immediately placing one of Mustang's arms over their shoulders. Together they hoisted him out of his seat, and hurriedly carried him down the right hallway to the infirmary.

- - -

Edward Elric and younger brother Alphonse had planned on leaving Central HQ soon after handing over his report, but after what happened, Ed had been overcome with guilt and decided to spend the night in one of the dorms, so that he could apologize properly. But now that morning had finally arrived, Ed began dreading meeting with the colonel at all.

So, instead of going directy to Mustang's office, Ed figured he would take a detour through the kitchen; he left Al back up in the room for fear that his younger brother would insist on him apologizing before anything else. To Ed's dismay though, one of the few people he was trying to avoid just happened to also be in the kitchen, grabbing himself a bite to eat.

"Hiya, Full Metal."

"Uhh...why hello there," Ed responded, rather uncomfortably. "Hey, Feury, thanks for letting Al and me crash at your place; I don't know where we would have stayed if you hadn't been around! But, you know, I had better get going... Well, see yah!"

Ed gave a small wave, and then quickly turned around and headed the other way, towards the exit. As he stepped into the hallway, he heaved a great sigh of relief from having dodged seeing the colonel. He was just about to take off in the opposite direction when...

"Ed!"

...Feury came rushing out after him, carrying a brown paper sack in his hands. "I forgot to mention that Colonel Mustang wanted a word with you."

"Oh, is that so?"

Feury nodded, before saying, "I was just on my way to drop off this food for him. I'll escort you up there."

"Y-Y-You will? Isn't that thoughtful...?"

Seeing that innocent, yet completely clueless smile on Feury's face, gave Ed doubt that he'd ever be able to avoid seeing Mustang. Finally, after thinking of no other options, he took a deep breath, and said, "All right, let's go."

Feury led Ed through different flights of stairs, and around numerous twists and turns throughout the building. Ed was almost greatful, because he could have sworn that the sergeant had passed by Mustang's office more than once. Unfortunately, Edward realized that he was indeed very wrong about that one, when Feury escorted him up another flight of stairs, and then finally into the office on the right.

From getting a peek around Feury's shoulders, Ed noticed that after what happened last night, everything still seemed to be in order. All the chairs from their little drinking party still sat in front of the colonel's desk, clearly untouched. The pitcher of tea and the bottle of whiskey had been removed, probably into a cabinet somewhere.

But where was Mustang? Ed asked himself. Surely he had been let out of the infirmary this morning.

Ed scanned the room quickly, catching a glimpse of white, setting atop the brown leather couch. It was Colonel Mustang. He sat on the couch, wearing his blue uniformed pants and the white, button-down shirt he usually wore under his coat. For him not to notice the entry of his subordinates, he must have either been in a daze, or whatever he had his eyes fixed on really stole away his concentration. Ed followed his gaze and realized that the colonel had his right leg propped atop two thick pillows; that leg was also tightly wrapped from the tip of his toe to just above his knee.

"Good morning, Colonel Mustang," Feury said, startling Ed. "I brought the food you requested, and look who I found wandering around the dining hall!"

Mustang looked up, and it was only then that Ed saw the state he was in: his face was deathly pale, his hair needed a good wash, and his dark, sunken eyes gave Ed the implication that this was not the same man who had offered him a job with the military, nor the man he had grown to know so much about over the past few years.

"Thank you, Feury," the strange man said. "Set it on this table over here, would you? Ah, and Edward come have a seat."

Ed followed Feury, as he set down the paper sack on the coffee table in front of Mustang. When he turned to leave, Ed noted that there was now nothing he could do to avoid this meeting. He sat down on the small couch opposite the colonel, and proceeded with sitting quietly and waiting to be spoken to. But instead, Mustang found the paper sack much more interesting than anything in the world, as he looked the other way, and pulled something out. He turned to see what he had grabbed, and noting that it was a simple red apple, dropped it back into the bag, and began fumbling for something else. This continued for a few more minutes, as the colonel went through grabbing and returning apple juice, apple sauce, and apple cider. On his final attempt, he pulled out the same red apple he had grabbed on his first try. He stared at it a while, before deciding that that's what he wanted. After that, he rolled up the top of the sack and tossed it back where it started, watching as it slid the length of the table, and stopping before falling to its doom.

"You wanted a word with me...sir?" Ed added, hoping to get Mustang's attention.

Mustang looked up, his eyes widening some, as though he had just noticed the boy sitting before him. "Oh no, I'm fine," he said, taking a bite of his apple.

Ed felt his face grow hot. Mustang was toying with him, as usual. Feury had said earlier that the colonel had something to say, and the sergeant definately wasn't one for telling lies. So, Ed thought to himself. He would begin the conversation and hopefully leak out whatever it was Mustang had to tell him.

"So, Colonel Mustang, tell me: what did they have to say about your leg?"

"It's broken," he replied bluntly. Placing the apple between his teeth so as to use both arms, the colonel reached into his left pants pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a miniature model of the bones in his lower right leg. He tossed the model to Ed, and then removed the apple from his mouth.

Ed studied the toy a while, before looking up to ask, "What's this red X for?"

Mustang squinted his eyes to see where the boy was pointing. "That's where it's fractured; the lateral malleolus...it's where it connects with my ankle."

"Right... But how is that going to affect your job?"

"Very poorly," Mustang said, shaking his head. "The Fuhrer instructed me to use my sick-leave until I'm able to walk on it."

At the precise moment Mustang finished his sentence, a loud crash was heard just outside his office. Mustang sighed, and then covered his face with his hands. Ed, seeing his opportunity to escape, got up from the couch, and stealthily began making his way to the door. But before he was fully out, a hand reached through one of the open doors, and yanked him out by his jacket. When he was able to focus on his captors, Ed realized that it was none other than Mustang's five subordinates. Upon further inspection, he saw that the loud crash he had heard had been caused by Heymans Breda clumsily running into and knocking over a marble statue of King Bradley.

"What is it?" Ed whispered.

"We need your help on deciding what we should do about Colonel Mustang," Falman said.

"What do you--?"

"Fuhrer Bradley told us to find a "sitter" for him," Havoc said, silencing Ed with a wave of his hand. "We were told to keep him as far away from HQ as possible."

"I vote he stays with Ed," came Breda's reply. "It's his fault Mustang has a broken lateral what-you-call-it."

"What? No way!" Ed protested. "I can barely stand the guy as it is! Besides, Al and I don't have a place of our own."

"Fine then, I'll keep him."

The guys looked up, seeing no one but Hawkeye standing there with her arms crossed.

"Riza," Ed said, frowning some. "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course I am," she answered. "You men are being too stubborn."

"No!" cried Feury. "I've already left you with the burden of having to take care of that puppy, I can't leave you to house the colonel too!"

"You mean Black Hayate?" Hawkeye asked, before smiling. "It's no trouble, Kain; Colonel Mustang likes dogs anyway, remember? Look, I have a small house just outside of town that we can stay in. You can all trust me to make sure he doesn't do anything reckless."

"Oh, I see," Havoc said, taking a few steps closer to Hawkeye, and then leaning his arm on top of her shoulder. "You're just doing this so you can get on Mustang's good side. Hey, maybe you'll even get a promotion."

"I most certainly am not!" Hawkeye said, pushing Havoc away. "I'm doing this because none of you five have the guts to take responsibility to take care of your own boss!"

There was silence as the guys tried to process all of this. She was right, Ed thought. He, at least, should have _offered_ to help out. Instead, he had been to cowardly to even suggest anything. And to top it off, he still hadn't even apologized for his actions from yesterday.

"So," Breda started. "Who wants to tell Colonel Mustang about his new living arrangements?"

- - -

There. Finished. What ending? That was the ending.

Nope, just pullin' your leg. See, this was originally going to be a oneshot, but once I started writing, the idea just kept growing, until eventually, I decided to save you all the trouble of reading for the rest of your lives, by making this a chapter fic. It'll be short, four chapters at the most, but I still hope you'll enjoy it.

By the way, if you hadn't noticed, this was my first FMA fic. I'm very pleased with the way it came out, even though I'm certain I messed up a few itty-bitty details. Review and tell me what you think. :D


	2. Chapter 2

Break Me

- - -

"I certainly _will not_ go through with this!"

After numerous duels of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Havoc had ended up being the one to tell Mustang about the Fuhrer's wishes and his team's decision for him to stay with Hawkeye. And unfortunately for poor ol' Jean Havoc, Colonel Mustang had not taken this lightly. During the past five minutes or so, he had taken to throwing anything within his reach, one being his State Alchemist pocket watch, at anyone who seemed to be within throwing distance. After that, he had threatened to have each and every one of them reported to King Bradley, but once he had been reminded by Hawkeye that it was the Fuhrer's idea in the first place, he seemed to calm down some, although he still refused to agree to the terms.

"Do you know how much work I have to do? I haven't got time to stay home and do nothing!" Mustang spat, his face growing incredibily red. "I've already sent a letter to Bradley, notifying him that I'm not using my leave time for anything less trivial."

"Well, about that letter, Roy..."

Mustang looked up, facing the door, and there stood Hughes, a white envelope in his hand. It was amazing how he always managed to show up out of nowhere. He took a cautious step into the office, being careful to look where he planted his feet, making sure not to step on anything previously thrown by his friend.

"You did remember to give the letter to him, didn't you, Maes?" Mustang asked, sounding more and more irritated with each word.

"Of course I gave it to him!" Hughes answered, placing a hand on his hip. "This is his reply."

Hughes tossed the envelope to the incapacitated colonel, who, when it reached his hands, stared at it numbly before sighing, and putting it down at his side. A moment later, Mustang made a sort of disgusted face, and put the envelope back at eye-level. He snapped his right third finger and thumb, creating a small flame like a lighter's. Then, he placed the tip of the flame up against the paper, and dropped it, watching as it burned until it hit the floor. When this happened, he leaned over, and blew at the flame in an attempt to put it out.

"What are you doing?" Hughes cried, sounding much too unconcerned for his own good. "That was the reply from the Fuhrer regarding your application to be Brigadier General!"

"You're so full of it," Mustang said, letting a grin slip through his features. "Okay, I'll give it a shot. Hawkeye, do with me what you must."

"Do you know how rich that sounds?" Havoc cried, his eyes gleaming.

"Not another word, Lieutenant," both Hawkeye and Mustang said together.

"Yes, sirs," Havoc said, hanging his head.

"You should go and pack your stuff, sir," Hawkeye said after a while. "We'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

"Right," Mustang said. He got up off the couch, balancing all his weight on his good leg, while he reached for the crutches being held out to him by Falman. "Ed, Hughes, I'm counting on the two of you to make sure I have everything."

The colonel's five remaining subordinates watched him leave the office, followed by Ed Elric and Maes Hughes. They still found it strange to see Mustang so vulnerable like that; they had always seen him so lively and seemingly invincible. But now, he looked tired and sickly, and all due to a broken leg. Hopefully, with a good amount of rest and the company of Riza Hawkeye, Colonel Mustang would be back on his feet, so to speak, in little to no time at all.

- - -

That morning, as soon as Mustang opened his eyes to greet the new day, he began feeling an uneasiness in his stomach. He told himself he hadn't slept but four hours last night, what with all these things going through his head, all of which were about him moving in with First Lieutenant Hawkeye. Mustang sat up and stretched. Seeing his bandaged leg lying uncomfortably on top of two pillows, the colonel reached for a small, orange-tinted bottle that sat on his nightstand. He twisted off the cap, tipped the bottle counter clockwise, and watched as two white pills fell into his palm; he put them in his mouth and swallowed.

Painkillers were a wonderful thing, the colonel thought. They were like a good soldier; upon your very command, they did what they were made to do: make your life a hell of a lot easier.

Mustang was left to his musings, before the door to his room was sprung open, revealing a very scruffy-looking (if that was indeed the word to describe a woman) Hawkeye. For a split second, the colonel had the strongest urge to pull the covers over his bare chest, and then to demand why Hawkeye had barged in without knocking.

Instead, he asked curiously, "Lieutenant, may I inquire as to why you burst in here so suddenly?"

"Of course, sir, " she said formally. "Fuhrer Bradley is awaiting your company." Upon really getting a look at the half-dressed colonel, Hawkeye turned away, a pinkish tinge brightening her cheeks.

"What?" Mustang nearly shrieked, jumping out of bed, which would have been impossible for any other man wearing a cast. Hawkeye began to watch amusedly as the colonel half-walked, half-hobbled without his crutches, to get around his packed luggage to his drawer. He fumbled with the drawer until he could finally get it open, and grabbed whatever shirt was lying on top. He clumsily pulled his arms through, and then wriggled his head through the opening. Hawkeye had to bite her bottom lip to keep herself from laughing as Mustang quickly limped past her, wearing two articles of clothing that clashed terribly. She followed him out into the hall, where King Bradley stood, waiting for them.

"Morning, Colonel Mustang," the Fuhrer said, smiling. "I see you've packed all your matching clothes for the move, then?"

"Sir, I don't--" Mustang looked down before he even finished his sentence. His mouth now agape, he stared in horror at what he was wearing: the same navy blue pants he had worn to bed and...a purple shirt. If there were to be such a thing as the fashion police, they would have gone up and arrested Mustang within seconds of him walking out of his dorm. But he had to make himself look good, there was no turning back now. He had the word 'embarrassed' written all over his face, but with a renewed gusto, he turned to look back up at the tall man standing before him. "You wished to see me about something?" he asked, his voice wavering some.

"Just to make sure you had everything in order, and to remind Lieutenant Hawkeye that I'll be sending your reports to her address. Also, I've put Brigadier General Basque Grand in charge of your other paperwork."

"Thank you, sir," Mustang said, and he truly meant it. Not having to do paperwork, and staying away from work was like the vacation he had always dreamed of.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," Bradley said, turning to leave. "I've got a meeting I must attend."

Mustang bowed his thanks, intently watching the Fuhrer's back until he was out of sight. When he was gone, the colonel turned to Hawkeye, a look of discomfort clearly shown on his face.

"If you ever see me trying to walk without my crutches again, lock me away in a mental institute."

Hawkeye looked down at her higher-up's bad leg. Mustang had bent down, and was now attempting to massage the injury through the cast. He wasn't having much luck. Hawkeye pitied the colonel; not once in all the years she'd worked under him, had she ever seen him in so much pain. She was glad that she'd be able to ease some of that pain by being the one to take care of him.

"Wait here," she told him. "I'll get your luggage."

After Hawkeye walked into the colonel's dorm, the first two things she brought out to him were his crutches and a change of matching clothes. Once she had his luggage, the two of them found an elevator, and rode it down to the bottom floor. They walked in silence as they strode through the big entrance hall, and then out into the courtyard. At the front of the building, there was a single brown car, surrounded by seven other people.

"I'll take it from here," Mustang said, indicating to the luggage that Hawkeye had dragged all this way. She handed it over to him as he grabbed the handle and began pulling it behind them.

Hawkeye pushed her way through the small crowd to get to the car. She opened the back door for Mustang to climb in, but when the colonel reached the car, he nodded his thanks, throwing his luggage into the back seat and shutting the door. He opened up the passenger-side door, and carefully stepped in. Hawkeye shook her head, smiling some. She had broken plenty of bones over the course of her life, her left leg being one of them, and she knew from experience that if you didn't keep the foot elevated, that in due time, you would probably be in the worse pain of your life. She did though, fail to mention this to Mustang, for she already knew that he would dismiss her advice, and continue to sit beside her at the front of the car.

And so, after hearing wise cracks from Hughes and Havoc, and receiving goodbyes from everyone else, the lieutenant and colonel set off on their journay to the small town of Madacy.

- - -

Upon reaching Hawkeye's home away from work, Mustang had gotten out of the car in a hurry, complaining about how he was never going to sit in the front seat of a car ever again. As expected, Hawkeye knew the colonel's reason behind this; within half an hour of riding in the car, she had spared a glance in Mustang's direction, and saw that he looked determined to glare out the window until it gave way and melted, allowing for a better view of the countryside. In reality though, she knew that he was merely trying to think of anything but the pain in his lower right leg.

As she unloaded their stuff out of the car, she handed the key over to Mustang, and told him to start making himself at home. Remembering halfway through this that she hadn't been home in months, except to drop off Black Hayate in the fenced yard the night before, she figured that the house's interior would have, by now accumulated about three layers of dust. She prayed to God that the colonel would learn of this and stay outside until she could secure the problem. But, when he didn't, she decided she had better go check on him and hoped he hadn't choked on a dust bunny or something.

"Colonel?" she called into the dark house. When she found him, she was sure she was going to die right then and there from either embarrassment or laughter. For when she first saw him, sitting on her dusty gray couch, looking very sodden and dusty himself, she thought he was just some life-size dusty statue of the real Roy Mustang, left there from her last visit to the house. She realized quick enough that she _had_ no such statue, but was afraid to move the man, for fear that he would literally explode; he was, in fact, beginning to shake with fury. So, remembering that practically every fiber in her petite body was a true military officer, Hawkeye decided she had better not die of laughter (or let out a chuckle for that matter), for if she did, and then by some sort of miracle she were to come back to the land of the living, she knew Mustang would have her head sitting on a platter for display in his office. She made for the couch, helping the man up from his seat, and then escorting him outside to dust off. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he said irritably, sniffing.

"Sir?" People don't sniff for no reason, Hawkeye thought logically. She paused from helping the colonel brush off, and turned to look at him. She thought for another second, before coming to a possible solution. Uh oh. "You're not--?"

"I'm slightly allergic to dust," he told her, bending over and shaking the dust from his once dust-free hair.

Hawkeye made a mental note to herself to not mention any of this to Havoc. He had said that she was doing this to get in good with the colonel, and if indeed that was what she was doing--which she wasn't--then this little incident would definately not land her a promotion. And now she was beginning to wonder why she had bothered to house Mustang in the first place. Oh, that's right: she had done this for his health. But from what she could tell, she was already doing the complete opposite, and all within 15 minutes.

"I'll go clean up," she said lamely, walking back towards the house. "You stay out here."

Mustang was about to protest, and do so very rudely, until he remembered that he was a guest here. He still felt a little offended by her ordering him what to do, but he tried to tell himself that they weren't at work, and that his rank meant nothing so long as he was away from headquarters. And so, he waited.

It was only about an hour later when Hawkeye beckoned him inside. At first, Mustang was hesitant about going inside, thinking about how cruddy he began feeling while surrounded by all that dust, but eventually, he found the nerve to forget all that, and finally walked in.

He was surprised at how well Hawkeye was able to clean the house during such a small amount of time, but began feeling rather tired upon his entry, and decided that the couch looked like a nice place to have a seat. As he sat, he also reached for his medication bottle in his pocket. He guessed that the only reason he was tired, was due to the fact that he had done so much moving around today.

"You're quite handy," he said, relieving pressure from his injured leg by reaching for the cushion behind him and throwing it under his foot.

"I've made dinner too," Hawkeye said, the corners of her lips pulling into a small smile. "Wait there, I'll bring it to you."

"There's really no need to," Mustang said, getting up. "The nurse at the infirmary told me that I needed to do more walking with my crutches so I can get used to them. Besides, I wouldn't want to spill my food all over your couch."

"Don't worry about it," Hawkeye said. "I'm already bringing plates over there, so sit back down."

Mustang obeyed this time without hesitation, and then elevated his foot on the coffee table in front of him. He hated doing this (it was kind of tacky), but he figured it was the only way he could eat comfortably while having Hawkeye sit beside him.

When she brought the food over, Mustang was overwhelmed by the size of his plate...it was tiny! Atop it was a steak the size of a floppy disk, accompanied by sides of peas and mashed potatoes. He began to understand now, why it hadn't taken her all that long to clean the house and prepare dinner. Nevertheless, he politely picked up his fork and knife, cut a piece of steak, and then placed it in his mouth.

"This is really good," Mustang said.

"Thank you, but uh, sir...? You've got a little sauce on your shirt."

Mustang looked down, and sure enough, there was the spot of sauce, seeping through his cotton-fabric'd shirt. He reached for his napkin and began dabbing at the shirt. He soon realized that it was pointless; that sauce was stubborn, and most likely, it was going to stain. Picking up his plate again, he soon remembered something else.

"You don't have you address me formerly, we're not at work. Call me Roy for now."

"Uh, okay," Hawkeye said nervously. "But then you have to call me Riza."

- - -

Later that night, and after their meals, the two had commenced with sitting on the couch and watching some tv. After eating, Roy's head began bothering him, and so he silently concluded that if he take more of his painkillers, then his headache would vanish, along with the dull ache in his leg.

But now, he began doubting his decision, for soon after taking two more pills, he been feeling extremely tired, and very nauseated. He also found that he was having trouble catching his breathing.

Riza had also noticed the colonel's sudden change in disposition, and asked him what was wrong. When he had told her he was feeling a little warm, she reached over and touched his arm; she knew that some medications were known for causing slight fevers. But what concerned her most of all, was when she felt his arm, it was icy cold. She was afraid of telling Roy about this, because she didn't want to freak him out, but truth be told, she was beginning to panic.

"I love you."

Without hesitation, Riza snapped her head to look at the man sitting beside her, soon regretting doing this when she felt a sharp pain at the back of her neck. She winced, but still kept her eyes on him. Roy was staring back at her, dazed and seemingly confused. His proclamation of love obviously hadn't fazed him, but then Riza began to wonder if he even knew that he'd said it at all.

The tense and awkward moment was completely shattered when Roy threw up what he had eaten prior onto Riza's freshly-cleaned wooden floor. He then slumped over on the couch, unconscious.

- - -

Wow, that was odd. That's not at all how I had planned on ending things, but then something happened that made me want to finish the chapter so that I could begin working on my new project. Yes, I'm hopeless; I can never stick to one fic. But you can rejoice in knowing that my new project will be of the FMA kind, as well a Royai. Woohoo. It's also a one-shot, so when I'm through with it, I'll come back to this one.

And I promise ch. 3 will be written better. Oh, and to Katie's question: both towns mentioned are of names of my own creation, meaning they're not at all from the series.


	3. Chapter 3

Break Me

_My New Year's resolution has been to pick up my grades...seriously. For you guys, that means fewer updates. Sorry, but I'll soon have college to worry about. Besides, those who know me will tell you that I was already slow at updating anyway._

- - -

The first thing she did was panic. She tried to contain herself, but when your crippled boss pukes on your newly cleaned floors and then passes out, one should have every right to be alarmed. During said unusual freak out, Hawkeye stood motionless, unable to really think of what to do next. When the switch finally clicked on in her head, she dashed into the kitchen and reached for the phone.

She dialed the number, pacing anxiously for someone to pick up.

"Yeah?"

"Havoc?"

"L-Lieutenant Hawkeye? I thought you were with Colonel Mustang. Why are you calling here?"

"I don't know..." Okay, so maybe the switch wasn't turned on all the way. "No, wait. I mean, I need help. R-Roy, Colonel Mustang, something's wrong with him," she said, shakily.

"Whoa, hold on. Tell me what happened," Havoc said, alarmed; almost as if he cared.

So, while the seemingly dead Mustang continued to lie still on the couch, in what seemed to be a very uncomfortable position, Hawkeye recounted what had happened, starting with when she and Mustang began eating dinner. It was a short-lived story, seeing that all the important details of what happened where all at the very end of the tale. When she was finished though, she was silent, waiting for what Havoc had to say about all this. But sadly and to her dismay, after waiting a while, she realized with a heavy feeling in her stomach that the phone had lost it's connection somewhere between the steak and potatoes portion of her story.

She sighed deeply. To the untrained eye, Hawkeye seemed uncaring for the incapacitated man who was no beginning to slide from the couch, his head making its way to the gooey and lumpy, peach-colored puddle on the floor (truthfully though, she cared very much). Seeing this, she bent down, picked up Mustang's head, and situated his limp form back onto the couch. She turned back to the phone, dialing the next number that stuck out to her as important.

After the first ring, she began telling her story once again, and when the woman on the other end promised to send help, only then did Riza begin to feel at ease.

While she waited for help, she picked up her and Roy's dinner plates, walked them over to the kitcen sink, and began to wash them with lather. She had a lot of nervous energy pent up inside her, and she needed something to do with her hands to release some of it.

"How did this wind up happening to me?" she asked herself, all the while wondering if it was all right to leave Mustang like that on the couch.

Suddenly, she heard a low groan and the creaking sound of springs. Having the slightest feeling that she knew what they were, Hawkeye dropped the plate she had been cleaning, and made her way back into the living room.

"Roy?" she tried.

Roy slowly opened his eyes. He winced with the brightness of the room, and shut them again. Riza bent low, brushing her hand against his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Mustang said, almost inaudibly.

"Me too," Hawkeye whispered back.

"What for?" Mustang said, opening his eyes some. "You haven't done anything wrong."

Mustang looked at Hawkeye's hand beside his face. Hawkeye, also seeing this, quickly took back her hand, only to have it caught in mid-air and brought ever closer to the colonel's chest.

"Don't be sorry," he said, smiling.

Riza's spirit rose at these words, but then quickly deflated when she felt Mustang's grip on her hand turn to slack. He had passed out again, and now the panicked feeling she felt before was rapidly returning. In order to try and calm her nerves (again), she got up, planning to return to her dishwashing, until she heard a knock at her front door.

- - -

Roy could hear hushed voices somewhere nearby, yet he refused to open his eyes. He was in that mood of his, that mood where he wished to play somewhat of a guessing game with himself; sometimes he'd like to see how close he could get without knowing the true answer.

He was lying down, that was a given. In fact, he had been lying down before too. The smell of insulin filled and stung his nostrils. He slowly tried to move his fingers, noting that there was some kind of cord resting on his arm; he didn't know what it was, nor was he sure that he wanted to. His first guess was hospital, but something wanted to convince him otherwise. After a minute or two, he was unable to think of anything else, and found himself completely stumped.

"I'm just saying it's ironic, that's all."

The voice startled him. Although Roy knew he had heard voices before, he really had only considered them as voices inside his own head. He risked opening his eyes, for fear of finding out where he really was. The hospital was still his best guess, but he really couldn't see why he would need to be in one. He had broken his leg about two days ago (or Ed had actually), but he knew it wasn't a serious break. Unless something had happened to one of his subordinates, he could see no reason for this.

"I mean, you volunteered to take care of him, didn't you?" There was a chuckle. "And not seven hours later, you call in to tell me he's thrown up and then passed out on your couch. But what's really great is that your phone, which by the way, has the _worst_ reception I've ever heard of, completely loses connection not even halfway through your call."

"Would you drop it already?"

Mustang's breath caught for a moment. He knew that voice, and the first one as well. Havoc and Riza. He was a bit lost about what they were going on about in their conversation, but he needed some questions answered, and he concluded that the only way that would happen was if he opened his eyes and began demanding what the hell was going on.

He opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. The room was dimly lit, and he noticed there was a big white curtain seperating the bed he was on from whatever was on the other side of him. He was indeed inside of a hospital room.

"Colonel Mustang!"

Mustang winced at the shrill-sounding voice, and slowly turned his head to the owner of said sound. It was Sergeant Kain Feury. He beamed a toothy grin at his superior officer, apparently glad to see him awake.

"Where am I?" Mustang voiced quietly.

"How's it goin', chief?"

Roy knew that voice; he had heard it only a moment ago. He turned his head away from Feury, and was greeted with a warm smile from Havoc. There was a glint in Havoc's eye that told Mustang that something was bothering him. Mustang took this as a sign that Havoc must have found a 'no smoking' poster plastered somewhere in the building.

"You're in a hospital."

Not quite understanding the tone, Mustang lowered his gaze to Hawkeye, who was just beginning to stand. She had almost snapped her reply, and Mustang found no reason why. He watched as she made her way over to him, her face stern and unchanging.

When Mustang stole a quick glance in Feury's direction, only then did he experience Hawkeye's anger to it's full extent. He learned that his first mistake had been taking his eyes away from her; only after he felt his head twist painfully from the force of her hand to his cheek and the tingling that had accompanied it did he fully understand this. His hand slowly found its way to his cheek, and he began tracing his fingers across the swelling skin. He sat motionless after that, dizzy and stunned, hoping whole-heartedly that there wasn't a sequel to this woman's rage.

"How could you?" she whispered angrily. The hand she had used to slap him was now clenched into a fist, and as Roy noticed, that even with her pale skin, the whites of her knuckles were still clearly visible.

Roy hesitated for what he thought was an eternity. He was actually afraid of asking what it was he had done wrong, but before he really had the chance to voice his question, Riza answered it for him.

"You overdosed on your Vicodin! Roy, how could you be so stupid?" Her voice was beginning to falter, and her whole body was shaking. "You could have died..."

Riza's eyes began to sting, and she thought she could feel the slightest hint of tears welling up just under her pupils. The warm liquid was beginning to rise, and it was blurring her vision some. She fought with intensity to not let the salty substance spill over her lower lids; she could not remember the last time she had cried.

Something inside Roy wanted to comfort her, but he just couldn't bring himself to say anything. He was still half-way shocked at her slapping him, but now she looked like she was going to cry, and in truth, he didn't want to watch.

"You will address me as 'colonel'," he said firmly, turning away.

After saying that, he felt like slapping himself. What insane part of his brain told him to say _that_? He heard either a gasp, or a choked back sob--he couldn't tell-- but he shut his eyes, trying to block out everything.

"Yes sir."

It was Hawkeye's reply. Her tone was different again; it sounded official, or what Mustang would have called "normal". It pained him to hear that she sounded oblivious to what was just shared between them. They had lived in a completely different world from the lives they had at work, and Roy felt like he had just treated her like the scum under his boot.

- - -

Two agonizing weeks later, Mustang was released from the hospital. He labeled his time spent there as the worst experience in his life, excluding the Eastern Rebellion. During his recovery period, numerous doctors were instructed to run a series of tests on him to make certain that the reason he had overdosed wasn't due to an addiction. While running of said tests, one doctor (dubbed highly annoying) discovered the cast on Mustang's leg, and came to the conclusion that it was broken.

Now if you can imagine how much doubt Mustang was beginning to feel in the lack of skill or knowledge of his doctor, you can clearly imagine how fearful he felt when they told him that he and his injured leg would need to go through rehabilitation to correct any future damage. And why was he fearful? His leg had been broken no less than three days ago, and already his doctors were demanding he begin his rehabilitation process within the next 24 hours.

What he had done over the past two weeks was teach himself to rely solely on one crutch, reteach himself to walk without crutches but with a plastic boot, and the most painful of his exercises: climbing a flight of stairs with nothing but his plastic boot and the wall railing to assist him.

To make matters worse, Riza had not come by but once since Roy had woken up in the hospital bed, and the one time she did show up was only because a signature was needed from Roy's caretaker. Having knowing that he had possibly upset her in some way, made him feel miserable as hell.

He'd had other visitors of course. Hughes for one, dropped by almost every day to check on Roy's improvement. Within the first week, Mustang had started to become annoyed with his friend's presence; during rehab hours, Hughes had done nothing but laugh at Roy's painful struggles, proceeding with trying to encourage the man by showing off pictures of his daughter. Then there was the Fuhrer and the military's psychiatrist. This left Roy completely appalled when King Bradley told the shrink to talk things over with the colonel, and to make sure there wouldn't be any lasting damaged from his "terrible ordeal".

Mustang's looney subordinates occasionally dropped by, and together they would laugh it up and poke fun at how much paperwork Grand was struggling through. It was also reported by Falman that the Brigadier General had not ceased his complaining since Roy's absence from HQ; hearing this always cheered him up. Thrice even had Mustang seen Ed Elric wandering around the hospital, but only once had the teen actually made it into his superior's room. Roy was sure the boy meant to tell him something, but noted that he was also trying to avoid him. The last time they were seen together, they seemed fine: they chatted idlely about nothing in particular, and when Ed could no longer stand it, he blurted out what sounded like an apology, before exiting in a hurry, and leaving an awkwardness between the two.

And those had been Roy's two weeks at the hospital. Now though, he sat in a wheelchair in the check-out lodge, beginning to grow impatient, as the wall clock clearly showed that his chauffeur was running behind schedule. He much hated sitting the way he was, atop a mobile chair, as people walked past him to and fro. This wouldn't have bothered him so much had he the ability to walk on his own, but now that he had parted with his crutches, walking or even standing for a period of time seemed to tire him quickly.

"It seems your ride's a bit late," said the snooty nurse who had been instructed to watch over the colonel that day. Mustang still hadn't taken to her very well. She had been one of the first nurses to care for him during rehab, and definately the one he had hated most. His first impression of her was that she had a side job as a hooker. When he voiced this concern to her, she laughed haughtily, smacking her gum, and saying nothing more.

Roy groaned loudly, shifting his wait in the chair, vainly trying to keep his butt from falling asleep. He glanced once more at the clock, keeping himself busy by following the second hand until he became dizzy and nauseated. When he finally looked down, he was surprised to see, not the nurse from before, but Riza Hawkeye instead.

Their eyes met as the blonde made her way to the check-out desk, but no more until after Mustang was wheeled out of the hospital, and then seated and strapped into Hawkeye's car. Roy sighed, relieved, upon the start of the engine.

"Glad to be out of there?" Hawkeye asked gruffly.

Roy nodded, but knowing that his lieutenant's eyes were to be kept on the road, he said, "I _never_ want to smell insulin or step toe inside of a hospital again." When she said nothing, he tried a change in topic. "Riza...this is going to sound a little out of character, but I want to apologize for...whatever it is I've done to upset you."

Luckily for them, there weren't many people on the road at this time of day, because if there were, not a moment after Riza had slammed on the brakes and turned her head to the colonel, another car surely would have come and crashed into the back of them.

"W-What do you--?"

"I had time to sort things over in my head while at the hospital, and though I'm still not quite sure what I did to hurt you, I just want to say that I..."

And he left it like that, his sentence trailing in the air. He was positive he knew what he was going to say, but when it actually came time to say it, his mind felt clouded, and he was unable to voice his thoughts.

- - -

_Jeezus, did I do a semi-cliffhanger? Wow, that's so unlike me... Well, just for next chapter reference, Mustang was not and probably will not say anything along the lines of "I love you, I like you, I've habored these feelings since before I can remember...yadda, yadda, yadda." You get the point; he won't say anything like that. Although, he might say something like "I like it, I love it, I want some more of it". Haha, okay, maybe not. _

_Sorry, it took longer than I thought to update this. My friend and I started our own manga, and I've been given the honor of writing the script, and I've just been having so much fun doing that. But I still hadn't forgotten my colonel! love_

_By the way, have I at all said yet how much I adore all the feedback and good cookies I've gotten from you guys? Well, there, I have now. But seriously, checking out my hit count and numbers of how many people have this listed as a favorite story or are on the alert list really makes me happy. I just wanna squeeze you all to death! Thanks!_


	4. Chapter 4

Break Me

_Ahhhhh. I had a brain fart and can't remember what was gonna happen!_

- - -

Roy had been back at Hawkeye's for the better part of three weeks now, and yet he still couldn't remember what he had tried to tell her before. Whether he couldn't remember, or he didn't want to, he wasn't sure either. Perhaps it was because he didn't _want_ to remember that caused him to _not_ remember...or something like that. But he was so stumped now that he was certain that if by some miracle he did happen to remember, he wouldn't know when it happened.

But after a few more hours, he decided that he didn't really care anymore about what he was trying to say. Instead, he lied his head down on a pillow, shutting his eyes. In truth, he was pretty tired; he hadn't realized how much energy had been drained from him since he left Riza's house for the hospital. Sure, the doctors and nurses provided him with food, care, and clothes other than the typical gown, but he somehow felt at peace when surrounded by four walls that weren't the bleached white of the hospital. He liked the tranquility of knowing that he needn't rush off for rehab or clear the hall for another emergency guest.

"You should go lie down in your room."

During his absence, Riza had set up a guest room for her colonel that consisted of a bed, bath, and small closet for his belongings. And during the time he had been back with her, he hadn't once actually seen it. Riza figured it was because of the rehab that he had done that now made him wary about stair-climbing.

"No, I'm fine," he said, stifling a yawn.

"No you're not," Riza said, grabbing the remote control from his hand, and turning off the tv. "You haven't slept in days; at least take a half hour nap in your room, or--"

"Who says I haven't slept?" Mustang asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

"You sure as hell don't look like you have."

Mustang was beginning to feel affronted by Riza's argumentative tone, but he remembered hearing from Havoc that arguing and always wanting to be right was just something in every woman's nature. He never would have thought this of Hawkeye, for he'd never once thought of her as an ordinary woman, but this seemed to be the only logic behind it. Although, he never fancied being wrong either...

"And since when did you become a doctor?"

"I've had training...," Hawkeye said, turning the other way to hide the pink now rising in her cheeks.

"Now, that's more like--wait. When did you have medical training?"

Riza turned her head back towards the colonel. "I was originally going to be a nurse working for the military."

"I'm glad you changed your mind," Mustang said, yawning again. "Okay, follow me up the stairs and I promise I'll sleep in this room of yours."

"_Your_ room," Hawkeye corrected him. "And it has to be long enough for you to actually feel rested."

"Fine."

When Mustang rolled off the couch, he was hoping Riza would stay there so he could use her to steady his weight before getting up. Unfortunately for him, she was completely oblivous to this, and when he had rolled over to get up, she had moved out of the way, and was already headed towards the stairs. In truth, the one reason Mustang hadn't gone near the stairs was because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to do it. During rehab, he barely managed it, and back then there were doctors and nurses that threatened his military career; and although he normally wouldn't have had that, his time spent at the hospital were most definately his weakest ones, he felt helpless.

As he walked towards the stairs, Mustang could have sworn he heard the phone ringing in the other room, and when Hawkeye said for him to go on without her, only then did he realize he hadn't imagined it. But now he figured that since she wasn't with him, he could struggle all he wanted on his way to his room. And if he couldn't do it by the time she got back, he told himself to tell her that he had been waiting for her.

He placed his injured foot on the first step, testing to see how much weight it could hold. This isn't so bad, he told himself. He hoisted himself up, bracing himself in case he wasn't able to maintain his weight. _Yeah, I can do this_.

Several minutes later Hawkeye hung up the phone, and walked herself over to the stairs to see if Roy had gotten up all right. When she turned the corner to the living room, she was surprised to see him sitting on the floor, an irritated look on his face.

"What happened to you?"

"I think I broke my ass," he told her.

"You can't do that," Riza said exasperatedly. "What did you do?"

"I fell down the stairs, of course. Look, Riza, I'm not ready for this. I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

"Nonsense, you had strength enough to do this at the hosptail, doing it here should be the same if not easier."

Hawkeye held out her hand, hoping the colonel would take it; when he did, she pulled him up, all the while trying to persuade him to climb the stairs. Eventually, he gave in, and she walked right beside him all the way up. She could tell he was exhausted after not having the proper rest throughout the past few days, and she was grateful when he told her that he wouldn't be needing dinner because he had the feeling he was going to sleep through the whole night.

"I forgot to tell you," Hawkeye started, sitting on the edge of Mustang's bed. "That was the Furher on the phone."

"Oh?" Mustang was standing with his back to her, as he began to unbutton his shirt. "What did he want?"

"Well, I told him about your stay at the hospital." She lowered her voice some and averted her gaze as Mustang turned around to reveal his newly-exposed chest. "Not about you OD-ing or anything...just about the rehab. Anyway, he thinks you should come back to work soon, we both do."

"Do you want me out of here that badly?"

"What? No, I was just saying that I should be going back to work soon too..."

"All right then, give me two days. In two days, we'll both return to Central. Oh, and Lieutenant," Roy said, beginning to use their military titles in order to prepare himself for work. "Don't look so embarrassed to see me like this; I know this isn't the first time you've seen a shirtless man."

- - -

It was such a beautiful day that morning. The sun itself seemed to be smiling down on everything, its heat radiating the area. It wasn't cold out, but there was just enough of a breeze to lower the temperature without having anyone complain about the heat. There was hardly a cloud in the sky, and the only ones that could be seen, weren't rain clouds, but big, fluffy cotton balls that were easily shaped by the wind.

No, Mustang told himself. Today was not a beautiful day, it was horrible. A beautiful day is what had gotten him into this situation in the first place, and he wished by any and all means to try and forget that he was finally back at work. He placed his arms high over his head, wincing when he felt one of his shoulders pop.

"Colonel!" It was Feury. And he was coming from somewhere down the hall. When he was finally in the room, he was completely ruffled, and he was carrying a stack of papers that were just high enough to allow him to see over the top. "These are some of the files Brigadier General Grand took care of while you were out. He says that everything's finished, he just needs you to approve them, then send them to the Furher's secretary."

Mustang sighed. "Of course. Just put them on the table right there...Thanks."

"Don't look too excited, sir. It's bad for your health."

Mustang looked up from his work. He locked eyes with Hawkeye, and for a moment, he struggled to surpress a smirk. Since the night he told her they were coming back, she had been acting formal again, almost as if they were already at work. And now that they really were, Hawkeye acted more or less like herself, with an added flavor of sarcasm every now and then.

"Touché, Lieutenant. Now, does anyone know what I did with that whiskey bottle I had before I left?"

"That was confiscated a few days after you left by the Lieutenant Colonel," Falman said from behind his newspaper.

"Lieutenant Colonel..._Hughes?_"

"That's right," Havoc said, leaning back in his chair and reaching inside his pocket for a lighter. "He said you wouldn't be needing it where you were going...whatever that means."

Just by hearing this had already worsened the colonel's already foul mood. He knew Hughes knew better than to come snooping around in his office, but to reach into his cabinets and take what clearly didn't belong to him was beyond all forgiveness.

"As a matter of fact, didn't he call in sick today?" Havoc asked no one in particular.

"He said he might leave early, yeah," Breda spoke up from his place in the corner. "When he heard Colonel Mustang was coming back today, he said he was starting to feel queasy and that he was thinking about going home. I heard him talking to a higher-up about it."

"That's highly unlikely," Mustang said, resuming his work. "I've known Hughes for a long time, and I've never seen him sick enough to want to leave work."

"Go easy on him, Colonel. Not everyone's as invincible as you are."

"Lieutenant Hawkeye, your comment was out of line. Besides, you better than anyone should know how in_digent_ I can be."

Without glancing up to see the looks on the other's faces--although he almost couldn't help himself--Mustang reached out for the phone, quickly dialing the number to Hughes office on the third floor.

"Get me Hughes. Now," he said to who was thought to be the secretary on the other end.

Mustang heard the secretary get out of her seat in a hurry, stumbling towards the direction in which Hughes was believed to be in. He heard the woman talking hurriedly to somone else, the sound of her complaining about the colonel's rudeness; but in fact, Mustang didn't think he had been rude at all, just demanding.

"H-Hello?" the speaker said meekly into the receiver.

"I want you with my drink and anything else you might have stolen from me in my office pronto." The receiving caller said something back to Mustang and he listened patiently until saying, "That's an _order_, Lieutenant Colonel."

Not once in all their years of knowing each other had Mustang ever used his rank over Hughes as a demanding strategy to get what he wanted. Normally, his friend was always more than willing to provide the colonel with everything he needed, with little to no hesitation.

The colonel ran a hand through his hair, sighing loudly. "Damn it all..."

"Sir, what's wrong?" Feury asked, speaking up for the first time since entering the room.

"What's wrong? What's _wrong?_ Feury, I'm _dying!_"

While everyone else turned to Mustang skeptically, Feury cringed some, looking fearful.

"Ugh...it sure feels that way," Mustang said, rubbing his eyes with his palms. "My head feels like it's going to split, my leg is _killing_ me, people feel the need to steal from me, and--"

"Aren't you being a little too overdramatic?"

Everyone turned their heads towards the door, expecting to see Lt. Colonel Hughes, seeing as he was the only one scheduled to be there other than them. But as the person stepped fully into view, they quickly realized that it wasn't Hughes, but State Alchemist Edward Elric; and surprisingly he was absent a little brother by his side.

"Edward, just the man I was looking for," Mustang said, straightening up in his seat. "And no, I don't think I'm being overdramatic at all. Vicodin would be great now, but they look that away from me; now I'm stick with these lousy, good-for-nothing--"

"You were looking for me?" Ed said, raising an eyebrow and finding this a little hard to believe.

"Not really... But since you're here, what can I do for you?"

"Just dropping off a report. Al and I headed south to Dublith while you were gone, and I figured you'd want something to read."

"Great," Mustang said sarcastically. "Leave it over here on this stack."

"So, how's your leg?" Ed asked after dumping his paperwork on the stack of reports Feury had brought in earlier.

"Murderous."

"That's nice. Well, if you don't have anything else for me, I think I'll just--mph!"

Ed was clearly back to not caring for the well-being of his commanding office, and when he had turned to leave and began walking back towards the doors to the office, he had literally run into the Lt. Colonel. Hughes struggled to keep the drink in his hand from slipping, knowing that if it did, Mustang would surely have his head.

"Sorry," Ed said brushing past.

"Whoa, where are you going in such a hurry?" Hughes said grabbing his arm. "Mustang said we were keeping you for a drink."

"What?" Mustang and Ed together.

"Well, I guess there's no harm in a quick drink, Ed," Mustang said, pushing aside his piles of papers. "I've still got some of that tea from last time."

"That's disgusting," Breda spoke up. "That stuff's been here for over a month."

"Then Edward'll just have to sue you for food poisoning; you had plenty of time to throw it out. It's fine!" Mustang laughed.

At first there was plenty of awkward silence to fill a morgue, but eventually everyone warmed up comfortably, and there were laughs and how-many-alchemists-does-it-take-to-screw-in-a-light-bulb jokes every now and then.

And when it finally reccured to him, Mustang finally thought and remembered. When he knew the others were too busy into their own conversations, he signalled Hawkeye closer to him and whispered to her.

"I never got to thank you for letting me stay with you-- I bet I was a pain to live with. And remember on our way back from the hospital, when I was going to tell you something?"

Hawkeye nodded.

"Truthfully, I wasn't going to tell you anything. Why I even brought up the matter I'm not sure, but I do want to give you a little something. Call it a thank you present, a parting gift, or whatever you want. Just remember this: don't think too much into it. Boss to employee relationships rarely work out, and for me, it's all or nothing. I guess what I'm trying to say is..."

Mustang checked around him one last time, and seeing that no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to them, he leaned over, giving Hawkeye a little peck on the cheek.

- - -

"I have never known Mustang to whine so much in all the time I've known him"- me

_Wow, I can't believe I actually finished it with only as many chapters as I said it would be from the beginning. See, I said once that "Torn Apart" was going to be short, but hey, it's 12 chapters long and still going strong (and I rhymed). And now I hate to say it, but I'm glad this fic is finished. Sure, I got lots of feedback and it had more hits than all of my other 29 stories combined (which made me **very** happy), but honestly, after the first chapter, it was a pain to write. The idea for this fic came to me one night on a whim, and when I finally typed it up and ended the first chapter, I said to myself "now what the heck am I gonna write?". I had no idea where this story was headed, but when I got down to writing it again, I sort of just let my fingers type out the first idea that came to mind; plot bunnies think of crazy things! Oh, and with the ending, I was going for a recurrence to the first chapter, but with a twist of a sort. _

_Thank you all sooooo much for the amount of hits and feedback. You guys are the WORLD to me! _


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